


Love Bites

by Bouncey



Series: A Very Bouncey Halloween [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Consensual Blood Drinking, Consensual Mind Control, Consensual Mind Reading, Count Jaskier, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Dom/sub Undertones, Dracula Influence/References, Fluff and Smut, Geralt Under Thrall, Gothic, Gratuitous use of "Your Grace" by Geralt, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier calling Geralt 'pet' a lot, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Romance, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Solicitor Geralt, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Victorian Aesthetic Witcher Universe, Victorian Era Witcher Universe, all of the original mystery and sex appeal of Dracula now with CONSENT, but in the Victorian way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: The large wooden door of the looming grey castle swung open and a young, dark-haired man gestured for Geralt to come inside. “Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!”“Count Dracula?” the visitor inquired, stepping across the threshold and into the entryway. The man at the door gave Geralt a deep, sweeping, overly courtly bow and a close-lipped smile.“Call me Jaskier. You must be my new solicitor, Mr. Bellegarde?”(Chapter One is self contained with no smut, Chapter Two is the smutty continuation)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A Very Bouncey Halloween [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928542
Comments: 22
Kudos: 241





	1. Love Bites

**Author's Note:**

> It's horny. It's vampires.
> 
> It's the re-working of a classic novel to be way less gross than the original.

The large wooden door of the looming grey castle swung open and a young, dark-haired man gestured for Geralt to come inside. “Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!”

“Count Dracula?” the visitor inquired, stepping across the threshold and into the entryway. The man at the door gave Geralt a deep, sweeping, overly courtly bow and a close-lipped smile. 

“Call me Jaskier. You must be my new solicitor, Mr. Bellegarde?”

“Geralt, please,” the anxious young lawyer insisted. The Count closed the door behind his guest and gestured for the solicitor to follow him down a short hallway. Geralt couldn’t help but look around as they walked; the dark stone walls were draped in heavy velvet tapestries. Those hanging on the left depicted scenes from hunts or weddings, but the entire right side of the hallway was lined with the story of a long and fearsome battle. Invaders, it seemed, had laid siege to Castle Dracula once upon a time. They had not succeeded in the slightest and they were rather gruesomely punished; their heads were mounted on stakes by the time Geralt and his employer reached the arched doorway at the end of the passage. Jaskier laid a gentle hand on his guest’s shoulder and smiled again, “I see you have discovered my family history. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my apologies, Your Grace” Geralt blushed. His heart was beating jack-rabbit fast against the inside of his ribcage. “The tapestries are lovely. Medieval?”

“Yes,” the Count beamed. His canines glinted sharply in the torchlight and Geralt felt himself gulp against his will. _Had he imagined it, or had the Count’s eyes quickly darted to and from his neck?_ The young noble cleared his throat and continued down the hallway into the dining room. “I’m very impressed that you recognized them, Geralt. Their style is rather obscure in Rivia, from what I have heard. Traditional Redanian tapestry is not an art style pursued by most museum curators, unfortunately.”

“I’m not actually from Rivia, Your Grace” the lawyer said. “And I find history to be most informative.”

“Your accent is very convincing if you are not from Rivia, Mr. Bellegarde.” Jaskier gestured towards the long mahogany dining table, which had been spread with a small assortment of bread and wine. At the end, near the only two chairs, were several covered silver trays, “Are you hungry, Geralt? I had assumed that your journey would be long and not well provisioned. My housekeeper set this up for us before she took her leave for the evening.”

“It was most kind of you to think of me,” Geralt thanked him, and bowed slightly to show his appreciation and respect. The Count noted with ever-increasing glee that it was unusually easy to make the poor lad’s pale cheeks go pink. 

“Eat your fill, my friend, and I shall pour us some wine.”

Geralt noted silently that the Count poured their glasses from separate decanters and accepted his own with a shy glimmer of a smile. 

“This is really too kind,” the lawyer insisted. “I am merely your solicitor, Your Grace.”

“I insist that you refer to me as a friend, Geralt” Jaskier waved his hand dismissively. “You have traveled a great distance to appease my curious habits and you have been nothing but kind since you stepped foot inside. Providing you with sustenance is the very least I can do, especially since I’m sure you’ll make for a scintillating conversational companion, dear boy.”

Geralt did not remark on the fact that this Count was surely younger than him and had no business calling him _boy_ ; but the odd brunette was his employer and he’d dealt with far worse treatment at the hands of other clients. A strange nickname was more than tolerable in the face of kind treatment; the eccentric young man _had_ prepared a meal for him at this late hour, after all. He took a long sip of his wine and noted the way the Count’s eyes lingered on his mouth even after he’d set the glass back on the table. 

“How were your travels?” Jaskier asked, hands twisting elegantly beneath his chin, elbows propped on the table for support. “Pleasant, I hope.”

“The ride itself was not terrible but the villagers I shared the coach with seemed scared for me when I told them that I was coming to Castle Dracula in the dead of night. I’m sure it was merely a result of the local superstitions regarding the woods. I found the scenery rather lovely except for howling of the wolves; I thought we were going to be set upon and devoured at any moment.”

“The children of the night, what sweet music they make!” Jaskier murmured. He stared out the dining room window and tried not to think about the irony of his solicitor’s word choice. Set upon and devoured, indeed. Geralt, who was not privy to the Count’s private thoughts, merely nodded and took another slow bite of food. 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

—

“Geralt,” a lilting male voice called sweetly. The solicitor opened his eyes and tried to sit up in the great four-poster bed but found his limbs to be oddly uncooperative. “Don’t worry, dear heart, it won’t hurt.”

“Wh-What? Jaskier?”

“Hush, now, pet,” the Count soothed, running his hand down the lawyer’s bare arm. His other hand was playing with a few loose strands of Geralt’s white hair, which had come loose from the ribbon at the back of his neck. Geralt could see his host’s sharp canines glinting in the low firelight and something in him thrilled, not necessarily in terror. Jaskier’s nostrils flared and he smirked confidently, “ _Oh_. Well then, Mr. Bellegarde, I can’t say I was expecting that little _development_.”

“What are you?” the terrified solicitor whispered. Jaskier chuckled; it was a dark, threatening sound and the human man shuddered involuntarily where he lay. “Your teeth…”

“The villagers are scared of me because they think I intend to feed on them and their children,” the Count explained slowly and evenly. Geralt’s heart was racing once again, but not only in fright. There was fear in him, of course, but the fear was not alone; there was also _something else_. Something that only grew more present as Jaskier stated, “I am a vampire, Geralt. I am Count Dracula, immortal drinker of human blood.”

“Oh,” the lawyer breathed. He couldn’t move regardless but he wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. His gaze was steady as it met the Count’s. “There are worse monsters I could be facing, Your Grace.”

“Like what?” the vampire asked, trailing his hand back up and down the length of Geralt’s well-muscled arm. For a man with a desk job, the solicitor was impressively built and Jaskier found him to be _irresistibly_ pretty. 

“Those wolves outside, for one.”

“You would rather be here with me, with a creature of the night who thirsts for _your_ blood as I have never thirsted for another before, than be out in the forest with the wolves?”

“Yes.”

The sincerity of Geralt’s answer struck Jaskier to the core. _He had to have this man. But not…not like this._ The vampire pulled his hand away from Geralt’s silky skin and released the solicitor from his thrall. The human shook his head to clear it, gazing up at his employer with wide, confused green eyes.

“I am very sorry for my behavior here tonight, Mr. Bellegarde. I don’t want to frighten you or cause you any distress, but I find you very alluring. One might go so far as to say that I have never desired another person’s presence more violently or urgently in my thousand years of life. Unfort-”

Geralt levered himself up onto his elbows and pressed his lips against the Count’s, silencing the vampire’s flowery apology. Jaskier fell backwards onto his haunches in shock, effectively breaking the kiss. His fangs were even longer now and Geralt’s pulse was racing. 

“Why?”

“It’s not just you, Your Grace,” the solicitor blushed again, mildly ashamed of his own actions. His comportment in the Count’s presence had been less than gentlemanly but it could be argued that this was no _ordinary_ interlude. This was Count Dracula, who was apparently immortal and hungered for Geralt’s blood. “I have found myself rather drawn to you, as well. You can…you can feed from me if you wish. You have my permission so long as you do not kill me. I’m not yet ready for death.”

The Count gasped delightedly and leaned forward to twine his guest into his lap.

“Oh, dearest Geralt, my heart,” the vampire smiled. “I would never harm one so precious and lovely as you.” 

—

Jaskier wrapped himself around his breakable human feast and sank his fangs into the side of Geralt’s tender neck. The young solicitor couldn’t help but moan. His hand tightened against the vampire’s bicep as he clung on for dear life and his vision went dim and hazy. The Count’s lips were warm and wet against his skin and the soft press of his tongue, the gentle movement of his mouth as he pulled sustenance from Geralt in slow ruby waves, had the human shuddering and gasping. “Your Grace!”

The Count grinned but could not reply. He was too lost in a bliss of his own. Geralt tasted just as delicious as he smelled, like the finest of wines distilled and sweetened. He was _floral_. He was delicate but strong. His bouquet was gentle on the nose and his taste was _heaven_ on the tongue. Geralt was _perfect_. Jaskier determined right then to never let the human leave his side again. 

Geralt, in a haze of pleasure and dizzy blood loss, had decided much the same. He arched up into the vampire’s restraining grip and gave a low whine. It felt as if he was floating away from his body but at the same time his limbs seemed as heavy as lead. He sank into the mattress and into Jasker’s grip, allowing the slightly shorter and slimmer man to support his entire weight. He’d never felt so safe before and wasn’t _that_ ironic if he thought about it long enough; but alas, he couldn’t. 

The pull of the Count’s mouth against his skin was intoxicating. The sharp pinch of his teeth against the muscle of his throat was oddly arousing and he found himself stuttering for breath and eager to writhe. It was distantly heartbreaking when Jaskier finally retracted his fangs and licked at the puncture wounds to clean them. The solicitor breathed in slowly to steady himself and murmured a shaky, “Are you pleased with me, Your Grace?”

“You are so beautiful,” the vampire whispered. He pressed a tender kiss to Geralt’s temple and laid his head back down against the pillows. “I am endlessly pleased. Now let us get some sleep, shall we? We can speak more on this in the morning.”

He laid Geralt back against the pillows and nearly lifted himself back up to leave. Much to his immortal surprise, the human whined and reached out weakly. His pale hand gripped loosely at the laces of Jaskier’s shirt in order to tug him back down. The Count leaned forward and brushed the back of his knuckles against Geralt’s cheek reverently, still supporting most of the solicitor’s weight in his lap. 

“What do you want, dear heart?” 

The human gave a sleepy grin even through his exhaustion and managed to whisper: “You.”

“Then you shall have me, Geralt,” and the ancient being wrapped his arms around his new solicitor, snuggling him tightly for the first night of many. 


	2. In the Dead of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is smutty! There is smut!

“Geralt,” the silky voice called out to him. It echoed off the castle walls, pulling the lawyer deeper into a state languid, misty stupor. “Come to me, my love. Come to me, Geralt.”

The solicitor, whose mind was still half-convinced this was a dream, found his body moving of its own accord. He rose mechanically from the bed and crossed the enormous guest room, not even stopping to pull on his slippers or dressing gown as he should have. Nor did he brush his hair back into place; it hung in a loose white curtain, framing his eyes and jaw rather romantically. 

Geralt stumbled through the keep like a drunken marionette, tied and tangled in the strings of some clever puppet-master. The drawling voice told him to turn left towards the Count’s set of private rooms, so he did. His bare feet didn’t even register the usually freezing temperature of Castle Dracula’s cold stone floors. His skin was aflame with goosebumps but not a single one had resulted from the chilly temperature. 

“Geralt,” the voice purred. The sleepwalker’s pace sped up as he neared the heavy oak door that led to his employer’s bedchamber, “I am waiting for you, my pet, and I am growing impatient.”

\---

“Are you _completely_ and _totally_ sure, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, worrying his lip between his sharp, sharp teeth. Geralt nodded and tried his best to look away from his lover’s gorgeous mouth. It wasn’t working. “Oh...Oh yes. I suppose you’re _quite_ sure.”

“How can you tell?” the solicitor asked, quirking a curious eyebrow in Jaskier’s direction. The vampire gestured as he spoke, trying to work out some of his fizzling energy as he explained his powers. 

“Uhm, right. I should probably explain. I can read minds, you see. Telepathy was gifted to me along with the immortality, the odd sleeping hours, and the lust for drinking human blood. I am also an incredibly fast healer, I can turn into a bat, and I can walk up and down walls as easily as if they were floors.”

“Impressive,” Geralt smirked. “Care to demonstrate, Your Grace?”

“Perhaps at a later date; I’m not in the mood for party tricks just now. Not after what you just told me and what I just saw going through your pretty white lawyer-jargon-filled head.”

“So you can read my thoughts as clear as day, then?”

“Yes, but I don’t make a habit of doing it regularly. I only peeked in just now because your line of questioning had me in a bundle of nerves.”

“Going to bed with me makes you nervous?”

“I very much enjoy our tender nights of lovemaking together, Geralt,” the vampire admonished teasingly. He was trying to lighten the mood, to fully process his recently acquired lover’s _peculiar_ request. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to suddenly change your mind or feel unsure going into things and only continue for my sake. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you woke up one morning and feared me for being the monster I truly am.”

“You are no monster,” Geralt asserted, catching Jaskier’s flighty hands in both of his and holding them tightly. He squeezed his fingers and smiled encouragingly when Jaskier squeezed back. “And aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one, coming to you with something of this nature and speaking of it in plain terms? I’m _mortified_.”

“I just don’t want you to be afraid of me, Geralt.”

The human cocked his head to the side and smiled, the deep blush that had accompanied his earlier request still darkened the apples of his cheeks. His open expression was so trusting and endearing that Jaskier’s heart would have broken if it were still beating. “I could never be afraid of you, Your Grace.”

“Do I have your permission to read through your expectations of this, should we attempt it?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Whatever pleases you best, Your Grace.”

“That’s _cheating_ , darling. You know how it boils my blood when you call me that,” the vampire growled. 

They’d fallen back into the pillows after that but the deal had been struck: some night when Geralt wasn’t expecting it, when he was fast asleep, Jaskier would bring his lover under his thrall. He would command Geralt’s every movement, keeping careful tabs on his mind so that no wrong moves were made and no damage was done. He cared too much for the mortal’s safety to risk anything.

But the mortal had learned that it was very hard for Jaskier to deny him anything, especially when it came to adventurous and lusty bedroom games.

\---

Geralt pushed the door open and approached the bed, where Jaskier was reclined comfortably against a mound of pillows. His ankles were delicately crossed and he was draped in a long, flowing white silk night shirt. His fangs were already fully extended and his irises were glowing crimson in the dim light of a few lit candles. 

“Kneel,” Jaskier ordered. Geralt dropped to his knees, unconsciously grateful for the pillow that his employer and lover had set out in preparation. The Count slid from the bed and approached his prey, breathing the heady scent of a lustful, eager human. It was a warm, earthy scent and it tickled him greatly to know that Geralt felt it all for _him_. Only for _him_. 

For Count Dracula, the terror of Redania. 

One of the immortal’s cold, calloused fingertips slid down the side of Geralt’s jaw and the solicitor shuddered instinctively, thrusting his chest forward and turning his face to the left to better reveal the pale, unmarked column of his throat. The Count released a feral growl and fisted his hands into Geralt’s hair. He tugged his head back, forcing the younger man to arch even further forward and breathe even more shallowly than before. All Jaskier could hear in the mortal’s mind, even beneath the fog of his vampiric thrall, was: _Yes! Yes! More. Yes!_

It was very encouraging. He kissed a torturously slow line of tooth-heavy kisses up and down the soft skin and refused to let the mortal give in to his urge to write. He forced Geralt to stay perfectly still as he laved his throat and Adam’s apple with his teeth and tongue.

He whined, low and long, and the Count released him to step back. 

“Greedy thing,” the vampire chuckled. The sound was low and ominous; it reverberated dangerously through Geralt’s chest and forced a whine from his throat, his eyes still trained on the Count. The solicitor could not force himself to move an inch as he awaited further instructions from his Master. Finally, after a nearly painful length of silence, Jaskier murmured, “Disrobe for me, pet.”

Geralt’s fingers flew to the collar of his nightshirt, tugging the buttons apart haphazardly in his rush to bare himself before his Count. His Jaskier. His Master. The vampire placed his hands over the mortal’s and tutted in disappointment. The sound had Geralt reeling, groaning in utter confusion as he went limp beneath his lover’s ministrations. 

“Slower, my darling. Put on a show for me. You’re so pretty, Geralt, and I’d like it if you remembered that. Unwrap yourself like a present, wouldn’t you?”

The white-haired human flushed a charming shade of pink and ducked his head. Jaskier removed his hands and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He watched with obvious arousal as Geralt slowly unhooked each shiny black button, drawing the material aside to reveal the planes of his broad, lightly-furred chest. He slowly slipped the offending article over his head and discarded it to the side. Then he paused, waiting once again for the vampire to give him a command.

“Pants off, too. I’d like you bare, my pet.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“What does it feel like to be enthralled by your love, Geralt? Do you regret letting me be your Master?”

“I regret nothing, Your Grace. Being yours like this...it feels as if my mind is far away and yet everything I touch is very close. If your skin brushes against mine unintentionally I fear that I shall fly apart; yet I’ve never wanted to be touched more desperately in my life.”

“Hmm. That is an interesting way to put it. Now, my love, come lay with me and let me touch you as you so desire.”

“As it pleases you, Your Grace.”

“Even bent to obey my every whim without question you are no less accommodating, my dear.”

Jaskier straddled Geralt as soon as the mortal had laid himself down. He shucked off his own silk nightshirt in the process, tossing it off into the darkness as if it wasn’t worth more than Geralt’s weight in gold. The Count ran his frigid hands down Geralt’s firm arms, clasping his hands and pulling them slowly, teasingly over his head. 

“How strange it must be to know that I will not tie you down and yet you will not be able to move from this position without my order to do so,” the vampire whispered against the shell of his lover’s ear. Geralt moaned and tossed his head back, baring his throat once again. The human was practically screaming his thoughts at Jaskier: Bite me! Feed from me! Take from me and make me yours, Your Grace. My handsome Count. My love!

The Count wrapped himself around his lovely, willing victim and eagerly acquiesced.

\---

“Fuck!” Geralt cried. He was sure that every nerve ending in his body was screaming in wave after wave of unstoppable ecstasy. 

Jaskier was everywhere. The Count had released the hold of his thrall as soon as he’d bitten into the side of Geralt’s throat. Now there was nothing standing between Geralt and all of the wonderful sensations his lover was inflicting upon him. The rhythmic movements of Jaskier’s hips as the vampire fucked him firmly down into the mattress, the heaving of his breath in his slow human lungs, the little white flyaways that were stuck to his forehead with sweat; even the way his hands were buried fiercely in the vampire’s soft chestnut hair seemed to only further drive Geralt mad with lust. 

There were warring sparks of arousal and heat shooting between the spot in his neck where Jaskier’s teeth were buried and the spot in his ass where Jaskier’s glorious cock was buried. The Count was an expert at mind reading and at lovemaking. He played Geralt like Geralt had seen him once play the lute and the harp. His fingers were expert, flicking at his nipples and pulling at his hair at just the right moments.

The young solicitor was nothing more than a moaning, writhing symphony and Jaskier was his wicked, brilliant composer. He sang at his Master’s order, grunting and sighing whenever one of the Count’s expert thrusts hit his prostate. It was even better knowing that every slam of Jaskier’s hips was matched by a strong pull of blood as the vampire drank from him. To know that he was pleasuring His Grace in so many ways at once brought the human to the height of joy. He mumbled a long series of wordless, gibberish thanks and let the Count drain him of his life force. 

“I can keep going all night,” the vampire warned, removing his teeth from his quarry only long enough to speak. “I could drive you mad like this, Geralt. Would you like that? Would you enjoy spending your life under my spell, warming my bed and slaking my immortal lusts? Would you like it if I laid you out on a pretty velvet dais during the day and gave you endless books to read? Would you be content if I had you dressed and bathed for me by your own set of servants every night and delivered to my bed when the sun finally disappears?”

“Your Grace! _Please_!”

Geralt didn’t know if he was begging _for_ it or trying to plead _against_ it; perhaps both or perhaps neither. Perhaps he was merely begging for Jaskier to put his fangs back in his straining, yearning neck. But the Count wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

“Please, you say? Does that idea appeal to you, my pet? Would you like being looked after and taken care of and _tenderly_ _worshiped_ from now until your dying day?”

“ _Jaskier_!” the mortal solicitor cried, clenching tightly around the vampire and forcing the immortal’s breath from his lungs. “Keep me forever, do not let me leave your side, Your Grace! _Please_!”

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m-” he cut himself off by sinking his canines back into his lover’s pale arteries and sucking in one last deep gulp of sparkling ruby nectar. 

“Yes! Your Grace!”

They fell over the precipice together, tumbling through empty, breathless air as they came. The feeling of Jaskier’s fangs in his neck had finally given Geralt the perfect amount of stimulation to climax, messing both his own chest and part of Jaskier’s with sticky spend. Since the Count had been monitoring Geralt’s thoughts the entire time they were coupling, hell bent on making sure he was enjoying himself, Geralt’s climax sent Jaskier headfirst into his own shuddering finish. “Fuck! My love!”

“ _Jaskier_!” ---

“You’re a marvel, my darling,” the Count insisted, forcing Geralt to take another sip of sweet red wine. He slipped a piece of sweet bread with jam into the mortal’s mouth shortly thereafter. “I am so lucky to have had you delivered right to my doorstep, ready and willing to fall under my evil spell.”

“You’re still not frightening me,” the solicitor replied. “I went to law school; you’re almost tame.”

“For that remark you shall be severely punished.”

Geralt rolled over in Jaskier’s lap and wiggled his ass playfully. “Oh no, Your Grace. Anything but that.”

“Get back here and finish your wine, pet.”

Geralt returned to his previous position and Jaskier ran a hand through his snow-white locks. “May I get dressed yet, Your Grace?”

“Not if you keep calling me that. If you insist on flaunting my title then I may never let you see a stitch of clothing again.”

Geralt blushed and Jaskier’s eyes widened as the mortal’s thought passed through the veil into his own mind. The Count laughed and fed Geralt a bite of bread. 

“You’re an absolutely filthy little minx, pet. I’m going to keep you forever.”


End file.
